A Sit-Down With Superman by Lois Lane
by The 4th Snake
Summary: Lois Lane conducts the world's first interview with the enigmatic Superman and gains a deeper understanding of the Man of Tomorrow.
1. A Sit-Down With Superman

On the evening of Wednesday the 21st, I was given the honor of conducting the first ever interview with the Man of Steel, Superman. It's a short interview, of course, as he is a busy man, what with protecting Metropolis and all. I hardly need to introduce the man, given that the Superman hashtag on Twitter has been trending consistently for over a year now, but I feel that this article would be incomplete without at least some introduction.

Superman - also known as the Man of Steel, the Man of Tomorrow, and the Metropolis Marvel - is one of the world's first post-WWII superheroes, following the likes of The Flash, Green Lantern, Hawkman and Dr. Fate. Alongside the likes of Batman, Wonder Woman, and successors to the Flash and Green Lantern mantles, Superman is part of an all-new generation of heroes taking the world by storm. With several high-profile rescues and "supervillain" defeats under his bright yellow belt, Superman stands as, perhaps, the most famous and popular of these heroes.

_Author's note: I cannot deny some personal bias on my part, given the hero's primary place of operation being here in Metropolis, as well as his much-publicized rescue of several reporters, including myself, at the LexCorp press conference back in May._

Given his superhero secrecy and his high level of fame, our meeting takes place in one of the offices at the Daily Planet. I am instantly struck by the surreality of this larger-than-life, almost mythical figure in his bright red and blue costume standing out like a beacon as he steps off the elevator and walks through the usually drab, gray and white office environment I've gotten used to over the eight years I've worked for the Planet. Strangely, though, I can't escape this odd sensation that he paradoxically fits in in these surroundings, regardless of the starkly-contrasting colors.

He greets me politely, showing off that smile that earned him the title of "Most Charming Superhero of 2018" from _Picture News_ readers. I lead him into one of the nearby conference rooms, where I close the door and draw the blinds to block out just about every single one of my co-workers peering up from their desks at our special guest. I try to tell myself that I wouldn't do the exact same thing if one of them had landed the interview in my place, but I'm difficult to convince of my own convictions. As he takes his seat, he chuckles at the attention, obviously very much used to this sort of thing by now.

"To start, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to sit down with us today, Superman," I begin.

"No need to be so formal, Ms. Lane," he responds cheerfully. "I've already had one 'formal interview' with a Lane. This time, I'd prefer something a little more casual."

The Lane in question is my father, General Samuel Lane of the United States Army. He was involved in the government's controversial detainment and questioning of Superman back in May. I initially worry that Superman may hold some hostility over the incident, but his tone indicates no such thing. Despite this, though, I find myself walking on eggshells for much of the early interview.

"Of course," I acquiesce. "Well then, I suppose the first, most obvious question is: How?"

From his expression, it seems he anticipated this being my opener.

"Well, if you mean 'How can you do... all of the superhuman things you do?' then the answer is that I'm _not_ human. No, I'm not a science experiment, or a god, or an advanced military android - which is a theory I read online a while ago and that one made me chuckle. Really, it's quite simple: I'm an alien."

"An alien?" I repeat incredulously.

"An alien," he reaffirms with an undeniable sincerity. "I was born on a planet in a faraway galaxy, called 'Krypton'."

_Author's note: Without a proper spelling for 'Kryptonian' names in the Roman alphabet, I have elected to spell the names myself, using the chemical element of the same name as the basis for the planet's spelling._

"And you came to Earth... why, exactly?"

"Well, Krypton was destroyed around thirty years ago. I'm not entirely sure how; conflicting reports range from supernovas, to alien attacks, to climate change and depletion of natural resources. Regardless, my father, Jor-El, sent me away in a small ship he only had time to make large enough to house a new-born baby: me. I was raised here on Earth as an American citizen. Really, I consider myself human, more so than a Kryptonian."

"But you do have a 'Kryptonian' name?"

"Yes. Kal-El."

"I don't suppose you'd tell us your _Earthling_ name too, would you?" I ask, mostly joking.

He smiles again. "I'm afraid not, Ms. Lane. Typical superhero reasoning, you understand."

"I do, but... you leave your face exposed."

"Do I?" He responds, raising his eyebrow suggestively.

For the first time, I stop to consider that this face speaking to me may not actually be Superman's real face. Although, that does feel a tad dishonest, which seems to fly in the face of his alleged mission of honesty. Perhaps, he uses some Kryptonian technology to mask his face with some made-up civilian identity? Despite my frustration at his intention to keep the validity of this 'hint' vague, I press on.

"Now, I have a few questions regarding your costume."

"Fire away."

"Alright. First, why the cape?"

"Yes, yes, we've all seen 'The Incredibles'," he replies with an amused grin. "There are two reasons; one a little more morbid than the other. The first is that this cape is actually the blanket I was wrapped in when I was sent here. It's one of the few surviving pieces of Kryptonian history, as well as the House of El. It's also highly damage-resistant, which is incredibly useful when dealing with, say, rescuing civilians from a burning building. Now, for the more morbid reason."

"The destruction of an entire planet wasn't the morbid one?"

"Well, in a way, yes. But this one hits a closer to home, even for me. Do you remember, in the aftermath of 9/11-"

"Ah." In an instant, I see what he means.

"-when there was this... palpable feeling that nothing would ever be the same again. A kind of grayness that hung over everything. And the one thing that reminded us to never give up hope, the one unifying symbol of the perseverance of the American people, was the ever-waving red, white and blue, defiantly fluttering over us. That feeling of hope that flag and those colors inspired in us all is what I want to inspire in others. I want people to be able to look up into the sky, see my red, gold and blue costume, cape flapping in the wind like the stars and stripes, emblazoned with the House of El's crest (which stands for hope), and know that everything will be okay - that we _can_ persevere through whatever horrors the world can throw at us."

I spend a minute mulling over this answer, contemplating the idea and feeling that he certainly succeeds in his mission of combining symbolic imagery to create this powerful image of heroic strength. It makes me regret having to ask him the follow-up questions: "And the briefs?"

He glances down at the bright red briefs he wears over his deep blue tights and chuckles. "You know, they weren't originally part of the design. It was supposed to be blue all the way down, but the colour balance was all off - it was far too much blue. I tried a red belt, but it still wasn't enough."

"It works for Batman," I observe.

"True. But he also has a cowl and gloves to add enough black to balance out the gray and make the look work. And I did consider masks and gloves, but they're really not my style. So, wrestling trunks, it is."

"I thought the look seemed familiar."

"Mm-hm. Back in the early 1900's, wrestlers and strongmen usually wore tights, capes and trunks. It's a good source of inspiration for a superhero costume. The look is a kind of shorthand for incredible feats of strength. A few hundred years ago, one might have drawn from statues of Greek Gods for the same reason."

"Very insightful, thank you. And, your choice of name: Superman. Many critics of you and your methods have compared your name to the Nietzschean concept of the 'Übermensch', which literally translates to 'Superman'. Presumably, there's no intended connection between the two?"

He stares at me incredulously for almost ten full seconds before responding. "I've not- I've not heard that one. Really? Wow. If I was blonde, I could at least see where one might get that idea, but really? No, the name is just because I don't have much in the way of specific identifiers when it comes to powers and themes. The Flash is themed after a common idiom for speed. Batman is themed after a terrifying nocturnal creature. Green Lantern literally carries a lantern that gives him green light-based powers. I have super speed, super strength, invulnerability, heat vision, x-ray vision, ice breath, super hearing, and plenty of others, probably including some even _I'm_ not aware of yet. My theme is too broad to be summarised as anything other than 'Super'."

"I see. I suppose that's a good sign you're not secretly planning any totalitarian dictatorships in the near future," I joke.

"I wouldn't dream of it," he replies earnestly.

"Next, I have some questions from our readers online. Don't worry, we've filtered out the many, many, _many_ questions pertaining to your identity, political stance, and... well..."

"Shipping and handling costs," he jokes.

"Yes. _That_."

"Okay. Shoot."

"Okay. Our first question: Do you ever drink alcohol?"

"On certain occasions, sure, but never enough to get drunk. Drunk-flying is really no different than drunk-driving, except that a friend can't hide the keys to my flying ability. It also adds another dimension for catastrophe to strike from, and given that I can hit with far more than the force of a car, it's best to avoid those situations."

"What kind of force _can_ you hit with?"

"More than a speeding locomotive. I've never fully tested it, but I know I can lift a medium-sized entire apartment complex, given a sufficient adrenaline rush."

"You're referring to the De Vries Tenement incident in February."

"I am. I saw your article on the event, Ms. Lane. I can tell that Pulitzer wasn't a fluke."

"And I suppose that article was the reason you agreed to this interview," I jokingly suggest, only for him to come back with:

"Partially, yes."

I stare at him in surprise, searching for any tell-tale signs of insincerity, but I find nothing. His smile does suggest there is more he isn't telling me, but I don't feel that his words were at all dishonest.

"And, the other reasons?"

He taps the side of his nose knowingly. "That would be telling. Suffice it to say, I trust you to relay my answers to your readers in an honest and unsensationalized way."

"Thank you, Superman. That- That really means a lot for _you_ to say that."

"You say that like you've been complimented by your favorite celebrity."

"I... have, though."

"You think I'm a celebrity?"

"You think you're not?"

We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity, both trying to grasp the other's view on his celebrity status. Could he really be so humble that, even after becoming a worldwide sensation, he doesn't view himself as being _at least_ on the level of a middling film star?

"Isn't it true that several major film studios are looking to adapt your story into a major motion picture?" I ask.

"Well, yes, but... Huh. I guess I _am_ a celebrity. Neat."

"'Neat'? You think being one of the world's most famous celebrities is just 'neat'?"

"I don't do this for the fame, Ms. Lane. I do this to help people. I always saw it as closer to charity work - the kind that's needed, but shockingly under-praised."

"I... see." Even with this explanation, I struggle to wrap my head around the idea. I suppose, if I had needed any more convincing that he really was an alien, this would have been all I'd need to accept it. "Well, on the subject of movies, one of our reader questions was who you would choose to play you in a movie, given the choice."

"You know, I think Brandon Routh doesn't get enough credit. I think he could pull it off, given the right material. He's certainly handsome enough to pull it off," he adds with a wry smile.

"Mmm, he's got nothing on the real thing."

"Thank you."

"Next, do you- Oh, God, how did this one get through vetting?"

"What is it?"

"Do you... Do you ever use your x-ray vision to... I can't. I can't ask you this."

"It's fine, Ms. Lane. No, I don't use my x-ray vision to learn the identities of other heroes. We're all entitled to our privacy. How can I breach someone else's so frivolously, and then ask others to respect my own?"

His smile is unreadable. I can't tell if he's covering for me with a more appropriate take on the same question, or if he genuinely thinks that was what the question was about. Either way, I'd much rather move on to the next question and put this one behind us. His answers come so naturally and so poetically that I have to wonder how my own career prospects would look if Superman ever took up a career in writing.

"What about super criminals? Do you use your x-ray visions to learn their identities."

"That... is a tough one. I feel torn between respecting their right to privacy and doing everything in my power to protect the innocent. So far, I've not run into that situation, thanks to their identities coming to light or the incidents being resolved quickly enough for it to not be required. If I did face some kind of mystery criminal who put others at serious risk, I'm not sure what I'd do."

"I see. I think we've only got time for one more question before I have to let you go. So, how about..." I look through my notes to find a question I feel is worthy of Superman's time, until he asks his own question.

"You've been asking a lot of questions you've been given tonight, Ms. Lane. From your editor, your colleagues, readers online. But, what about you? Do _you_ have any questions you'd like to ask?"

I admit, I'm surprised by this turn of events. I've lost count of how many interviews I've conducted in my career, yet I know for a fact that this is a situation I have never once found myself in: being asked by my interviewee if I have any questions of my own to ask. I do have one that would be the perfect follow-up to his explanation of his costume design, but I find myself conflicted about asking it.

"Off the record," I say, deciding I need to know for my own curiosity, if nothing else, "I'm sure you must be asked this a lot, but how do you respond to the criticism of your lack of intervention in the Middle-East or communist states?"

I almost feel guilty as I pose this question. It would be a difficult question for anyone to answer, to be sure, but for a man with the power to do something about the myriad issues in that part of the world, I could only speculate what must go through his head when he sees the ever-growing list of news articles surrounding the subject. He leans back in his chair with a sigh. He takes a moment to consider his answer. Clearly, this is a question he feels he _needs_ to give the correct answer to.

"Well... people look at me and they see this big red and yellow "S" on my chest. They think, 'This looks like a job for Superman.' People spend too much time looking at the 'Super,'" he taps a finger against the S-Shield, "to remember that I'm also a 'man,'" he finishes by pointing to his face. "People like to think that I'm some... perfect, infallible superhuman savior, but the truth of the matter is that I'm just as human as any one of the untold trillions of people who were ever born on this planet. I make mistakes, like anyone else, and I alone can't be given total autonomy to impose my will or my values on any nation or people that don't want my intervention. And, if I did - if I began to impose my will by force, even in small, seemingly objectively positive ways - where does it end? A dictator deposed here, a war ended there, and suddenly, the entire world is conforming to the values of one, ultimately flawed man. The crest of the House of El would no longer be a symbol of hope; but one of fear, of oppression. At that point, I would _cease to be_ a Super-Man."

"But, your values are so... moral and just, I suppose. Don't you think those values would be a better foundation for a developing nation than the whims of an immoral dictator?"

He shakes his head.

"If I did force my values onto others, what would I be if _not_ an immoral dictator? There's no such thing as objective right and wrong, Lois. A peaceful world created through force is no utopia at all. It's a _dys_topia. Peace can never be forced on people. It can only be inspired and encouraged. And that's my goal as Superman: to create a world that _doesn't need_ a Superman. Not a world where people are afraid to be bad, but one where people are inspired to be good. Doesn't that sound like a world worth striving for?"

I sit in silence, letting his words wash over me, contemplating this sentiment. I can't say for sure that what he's saying is objective truth, but it feels right to me, personally. I must have an expression of regret on my face as I ponder this, because he flashes that perfect white smile that you can't help but mirror when you see it.

"You can put that back on the record, if you'd like, Ms. Lane."

In spite of the ultimately minor assistance he provides me here, I can't help but feel the same sense of relief I felt the first time he saved my life back in May. He really does inspire hope and optimism with every word he speaks, even in a jaded twenty-something like myself. His smile falters a little and I find myself growing worried.

"I'm sorry for getting so serious there, Ms. Lane," he says apologetically. It's strangely humbling to have this world-renowned, real life Greek hero speaking so openly and personally to me, and then feeling the need to apologise for it.

"Don't sweat it," I reply reassuringly. "I know what it's like to have people judge me after one look at my chest."

He laughs at that. Not just a humoring chuckle, but a genuine, hearty laugh. It's reassuring to see a man with the power to level a city laugh so earnestly at a joke that wouldn't sound out-of-place coming from my own sixty-three-year-old father. If ever you needed proof that Superman is as human as the rest of us, then you need look no further than this.

**ABOUT THE AUTHOR**  
Lois Lane is the Daily Planet's own Pulitzer Prize-winning author of such articles as "LexCorp Experiments Exposed" and "It's a Bird, It's a Plane, It's Superman!" She writes weekly for the Planet's Thursday edition, and can be found on Twitter at PulitzerLane.

* * *

Sometimes, I write a story just to explore an idea, an exchange or a moment. I had a few, so I threw them all together to make this. Good night, everybody.

Needless to say, the main inspiration for this story was the interview scene from the original Christopher Reeve Superman movie. It's nice to see Lois is a character and not just a prop to die and motive Superman into mass murder and totalitarianism. Just watch Hi-Top Films' video essay on the scene if you don't appreciate it already.


	2. Dear Diary: A Follow-Up With Superman

_Given the sensitive nature of the information contained within this article, I will not be publishing it on any public forum. It is purely for my own personal documentation of the important events that transpired on this particular night._  
\- Lois Lane

* * *

I simultaneously enjoy and hate working late. On the one hand, I have some peace and quiet to write my articles once the rest of the Planet staff has left (Perry trusts his star reporter enough to let me use the office alone at night or on holidays). On the other, it's also quite lonely, and the lack of a time limit often leads to me tiring myself out in the early hours of the morning. But it was just something I had to put up with on this particular night. I had an article to write up.

I had been abducted by goons hired by Lex Luthor earlier that very day, but Superman had, of course, arrived in the nick of time to save me and foil the madman's evil scheme. Now, only a few hours later, I was back at work, writing up the Planet's headline for the following morning about my own abduction. Perry had insisted that someone else write the piece; someone like Clark Kent. But I'm as stubborn as a mule - a trait inherited from my father - and would never be satisfied with anyone else's perspective on my own abduction. Ultimately, as he often does when dealing with me, Perry relented.

Before leaving me to hand Luthor and his goons off to the authorities, Superman had left me with the number to a phone he planned to contact me with later to check in on me. Presumably, this was his 'work phone' and not his personal number. While most assume Superman has no alter ego, I knew better. Even a god amongst men needs to take a break and blend in with the masses every now and then. Regardless, I knew instinctively that this number would not have been handed out to just anyone. I couldn't help but grin like a schoolgirl with a crush at the thought. I _could_ hold back the giggle though.

I received the call at 22:45 while typing at my desk. It was strange to speak to such a famous figure over the phone. It brought to mind times I had spoken with movie stars for stories in the past, but this was entirely different. It was closer to speaking with Jesus Christ than with Ben Affleck. I started to wonder what his texts would be like. Would he use emoji?

Superman asked if I would be willing to meet so he could check up on me. Apparently, his x-ray vision would provide a thorough examination of my potential injuries. I had been looked over by the paramedics, of course, but he said he wanted to be sure. I had a fairly solid idea what his motivation for such a thing might be.

I let him in through the roof and led him down into my office; the same one in which I conducted my first interview with him. He questioned the need to go inside, to which I responded that it was cold, and I was wearing a skirt. There was another reason and I suspected he knew that. His super hearing can probably pick up on a lie of omission. In truth, I wanted some privacy for what I wanted to discuss with him.

Once inside my office, I allowed him to scan me with his x-ray vision.

"Everything looks good, Ms. Lane," he reported. "Fortunately."

"Good to know," I replied in what, admittedly, was an unnecessarily uninterested tone. "But I have to know: why do you still call me 'Ms. Lane' instead of Lois?" The question took him aback, just as I predicted it would.

"W-Well, I didn't want to overstep and assume we were close enough friends for that."

_'Oh, nice save_,' I thought. But that wasn't quite convincing enough for me. "Or, is it so I wouldn't realise just how similar you sound when you say my name?"

"...Similar to whom?" I had him on the ropes now.

"You said the 'S' is Kryptonian for hope, but are you sure it doesn't stand for... 'Smallville'?" My smug, victorious grin was as broad as Superman's chest now. He sighed, seeing no way out, and I pumped my fist in victory at this affirmation.

"H-How did you figure it out?" I had seen him acting flustered as Clark, but either because it was genuine or because it was in his Superman persona, I found him incredibly cute in this moment.

"Relax, Smallville. It wasn't easy for me, so don't worry. I doubt most people could figure it out. But this is Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalist Lois Lane you're dealing with."

"Geez, Ms. Lane, show _some_ humility," Clark replied, in a nervously joking tone.

"Nuh-uh. After this victory, I'm God-Queen of the universe. Wait, space doesn't have a government, does it?"

"Eh, kind of."

"Tell me more, please."

"Answer my question first, please." He was starting to regain the advantage. I couldn't have that.

"I'd have thought 'I'm Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalist Lois Lane' would be enough."

"Lois." Though I'll never admit it aloud, I couldn't deny the incredible power of Superman using my first name. Especially in so stern a tone, with such an appropriately steely gaze. In an instant, the playful tone of the interaction was gone. This was serious.

I coughed. "Sorry. It was a few things. Your shared city of operation. Your somewhat similar features. Your similar codes of ethics and drives to help people. There's your history with your high school drama club, where you learned how to play a character. But not well enough, I'm afraid. You can split up your quirks and personality traits between mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent and the Metropolis Marvel, but they're both still you, Clark."

"I guess you know me a lot better than I thought," he replied, sounding impressed.

"Yep. And then, there's the timing of your move to Metropolis and Superman's debut. It's like if Bruce Wayne returned to Gotham right before Bat... Holy shit, Bruce Wayne is Batman! He is, isn't he!?"

"I-It's not my place to say-" Clark's acting has some obvious cracks in it when he's put on the spot.

"Oh, my God, he is! Next, you're going to tell me Oliver Queen is the Green..."

"Lois! Don't make me use my super memory-erasure kiss on you."

"Get real. You don't have a power like that."

"Would you really be surprised if I did?"

"I- Hmm..." Silence fell for a few moments before Clark spoke up again.

"And I suppose I should admit, before you ask, that yes, Kara is Supergirl."

"I thought as much. What, with the timing of it all, in conjunction with the whole mysterious cousin thing. But isn't she fifteen? You let your _teenage_ cousin be a superhero!?"

"First of all, Girl of Steel. Second, _teenage girl_. If you had Kara's powers at that age, could Sam have stopped you?"

"…Well, you got me there. Wow, there's way more to take in here than I thought there'd be. Heh. I've been on dates with _three_ superheroes. Are Bruce and Oliver really like that, or is it an act to separate their two personas, like your mild-mannered reporter act?"

"I'm not sure I like how giddy you sound."

"Oh, it was for stories. You know the only one of the three of you that means anything to me is you."

"...You're not lying."

"Are you listening to my heart right now? So, you _do_ like me," I said jokingly.

"Lois, I _love_ you."

My face must have turned as red as Superman's briefs- Cape! Red as his cape! I quickly pressed my ear against his chest to see if he was lying. I'd gotten quite good at it, but this _was_ Superman, after all. After realising this, I realised how strange I must look and backed away.

With a cough, I tried to turn the tables once more. "A-Anyway, if that's true, why did you never tell me? Do you not trust me?"

"No, I do trust you, Lois. I just... I didn't know you very well when I first started out. And then, as I got to know you better, I did want to. But by then, you'd built up a famous rapport with Superman, which made you an obvious target for my enemies. Like today, with Lex. The last thing I want is for you to get hurt because of your association with me."

"Clark, Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalist Lois Lane was already a target long before you ever put on that form-fitting blue suit. Of course, back then, it was the M.P.D. that would rescue me. Not only do you speed up the process, but you negate the need for officers to risk their own lives to save mine, and my association with you is a warning for most criminals to stay the hell away from me."

"That's true, but-"

"But nothing. I appreciate the concern. I really do. But it really is unfounded. Knowing you're out there makes it easier for me to speak the truth without fear. I wouldn't be half the reporter I am today without you flying around the city and keeping it safe. There's more to this that that, isn't there?"

"Y-Yes. I was... Well, I was worried that, if you knew I was Superman, you'd only like me for my flashy superhero persona. I wanted you to like me for the mild-mannered reporter that's honestly closer to the real me than Superman ever was."

I would never have believed such a claim, had I not heard the man himself say it. Despite the courageous bravado he displayed as the Man of Steel, Clark really is just as scared of rejection and shallow relationships as anyone else. Even me.

"I... kinda get it. Honestly, I did worry people would only be drawn to me because of my fame. Or my looks. But looking back, I don't remember you ever really discussing either. You compliment my looks when we go out and you encourage my work, but when it comes to real topics of conversation, you always have shown more interest in me as a person.

"That's why I agreed to let you x-ray me. I'd never know for sure that Superman wouldn't use the opportunity to sneak a peek at the goods, but you, Smallville... I know I can trust you. I mean, yes, you've technically been lying to me for years, but it was for understandable reasons, so I don't hold it against you. Hell, I might well have gone public with it early on, but knowing what you mean to Metropolis, what you mean to me... there's no way I could ever do that now. ...Oh, wow. How did I never realise before? I think I really do love you too, Smallville."

Clark smiled. "Analysing one's own heart is a lot harder than analysing even a stranger's."

I smiled in return. "I'm pretty good, right? I think Batman can hand over his 'World's Greatest Detective' crown now."

"It feels like you keep talking about your ex..."

"So he _is_ Batman!"

Clark leaned in and kissed me. For a second, I worried his alleged memory-erasure kiss was real. But it was just a normal kiss. And a very good one. Once Clark pulled away, I couldn't help but grin goofily. "But he's no Superman."

"Nope. But, do you know who is?"

"The man who's coming back to my place after this?"

"Not what I was going to say, but sure, let's go with that. Oh, just give me a minute to change and we can head over. Better if it's Lois and Clark than Lois and Superman."

"But it's more special if you fly me there in your arms," I said in a pouty manner.

"Okay, but just this once. I'm not a taxi service."

"You're whatever I tell you you are, mister. I know your identity, so I hold all the cards here."

"Sam would be proud."

"That's just mean, Smallville."

"But it gives you something to think about while I go get my work clothes."

"All I'm thinking right now is, where _do_ you stash your work clothes when you zip off to save the day? Do you have a little web sack like Spider-Man?" I asked with a playful giggle.

"I throw them into space and get them on my way back."

I stared.

Clark grinned.

I punched his arm.

He kissed my injured hand.

I kissed his lips.

He flew me home.

I wore a Superman shirt to bed.

He wore nothing.


End file.
